Welcome!: I can't speak Chinese, now move on.

Monday, 10 January 2011

I can't speak Chinese, now move on.

I have learnt to accept that I'm not gifted when it comes to being Chinese. I wasn't raised in a particularly Chinese culture, and the only Chinese thing I have ever done is probably asking for ang pao during Chinese New Year. But I doubt that counts for much.

The thing is, I'm not in touch with my Chinese heritage, so what? Big deal. I wish people would stop making a fuss about it and just accept the fact that not ALL Chinese-looking people know what yung sheng is, or what Seven Lunar Month represents.

(Honestly, I still have no idea.)

As if I'm not bombarded with a high dose of Chineseness on a daily basis, (if it were a drug, I would have been overdosed) today is a day that one particular Chinese person decided to get on my nerve during lunch.

See, let me give you a little background. My default look these days consist on a clueless, blank, confused and helpless look. It just rotates between these four, so take a pick. Sometimes I don't have any idea what is happening around me or what's being discussed until I have to ask for a translation. Well, to be fair, normally I don't really mind this, because that means that the things they discuss don't really concern me, thus, I don't need to know. And with the amount of work I have these days, well, let's just say that it's a good thing.

Seriously. Sometimes I would fear having clients or office people call me on my mobile because that means something is wrong and in need for my attention. These days I would probably jump in shock or have an extreme anxiety attack everytime my phone rings!

So I'm taking it like a man; being the odd one out.

If I don't even mind being one, then why wouldn't some people just let it rest? Alright, so back to my story. This afternoon during lunch I went down with a colleague of mine. We grabbed a packet of lunch and as I was about to sit, a Chinese person approached and started talking in gibberi..ops, I mean, Chinese.

I looked at him blankly, with the hope that he would be smart enough to read my expression. But of course this would be asking too much. He continued babbling and I let him finish his long sentence before I finally said, "I don't speak Chinese."

He looked at me in amusement and I decided to ignore him, hoping for a peaceful, undisturbed lunch. Apparently this was too much to ask again, because not long after, he approached me again and said, "Oh, oh, where you from? Malaysia? Philippines? Myanmar?"

Can't he see that I was having my lunch? And I had been asked this hundreth of times before that it was really starting to get old.

I gave him a 'shut up' look but he continued mentioning some other country names. So I said, "Indonesia", and went back to face my food although I had lost my appetite. "Oh! Indonesia!" he exclaimed as if I just told him I won a Nobel Prize.

Double sigh. Seriously, he then still had the nerves to ask me why an Indonesian couldn't speak Chinese, and why I looked Chinese in the first place, you know, yada yidi yada, I could already memorize the script by heart.

First, ask where I'm from, then which part of Indonesia, then how come I can't speak Chinese. Man.

You think I failed to see myself in the mirror every morning and realized that yes, I do have slanted eyes, that yes, I am Chinese? I know I am one, but that doesn't automatically mean I can speak the language, and even if it does just by basic assumption, why is it such a big deal when you finally find out that I can't?

At this point, I completely stopped eating, and after less than 15 minutes downstairs, I asked my colleague to just go back upstairs.

In retrospect, I should've just answered "Zimbabwe" or something, when he asked me where I was from. Then maybe he would shut up.

Upstairs, my colleague and I were still talking and she told me a story of what happened a few weeks back. Our office has a unisex restroom which means it is shared by both the men and ladies. Normally, we have to wear our slippers into the bathroom so we would know if someone is inside by the missing pair of slippers outside. This signals that we ought to wait until the person is out, and then we'll get out turn.

Simple enough, right?

See a pair of missing slippers. Means someone is inside. Means, wait and don't come in!

One time, my colleague was inside. You know, being ladies, sometimes we don't just go to the restroom to pee. Sometimes after doing our business, we spend some time examining our face in the mirror, look for any signs of aging (or acne), or silly things like that. But that's our thing, alright? And we should be spared another minute of privacy.

And then suddenly the door barked open and a Chinese guy came in, even though he should have seen that someone was inside. He saw my colleague standing in front of the mirror and asked the dumbest question, "What are you doing?"

At this point as she was telling the story, my colleague yelled in frustration, and she told me that she was this close to actually tell the male colleague to go and f*** himself!

Of course this has nothing to do with him being Chinese, but he happens to be one. And sorry, we can't help it.

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Quotes

There's a hundred million different ways of writing, and it takes you a long time to sort through that stuff. And I think it takes anyone a long time to find a voice.

You must learn to take the good with the bad, the happy with the sad, love what you’ve got and remember what you had. Learn to forgive, but never forget, learn from your mistakes but never regret. People change and things go wrong, but you just have to remember that life goes on.

The day before I’m supposed to be meeting Caroline for a drink, I develop all the textbook symptoms of a crush: nervous stomach, long periods spent daydreaming, an inability to remember what she looks like. I can bring back the dress and the boots, and I can see her bangs, but her face is a blank.

I don't know, I think that if I could just accept the fact that my life is supposed to be difficult. You know, that's what to be expected, then I might not get so pissed-off about it and I'll just be glad when something nice happens.

I can see now I never really committed to Laura. I always had one foot out the door, and that prevented me from doing a lot of things, like thinking about my future and... I guess it made more sense to commit to nothing, keep my options open. And that's suicide. By tiny, tiny increments.

There's a big fucking world out there. It's messy, and it's chaotic, and it's never, never ever the thing you'd expect. It is ok to be scared, but you cannot allow your fears to turn you into an asshole, not when it comes to the people that love you, the people that need you.

Maybe what I'm saying is, is the world might be evolving the way a person evolves. Right? Like, I mean, me for example. Am I getting worse? Am I improving? I don't know. When I was younger, I was healthier, but I was, uh, whacked with insecurity, you know? Now I'm older and my problems are deeper, but I'm more equipped to handle them.

I am nothing special; just a common man with common thoughts, and I've led a common life. There are no monuments dedicated to me and my name will soon be forgotten. But in one respect I have succeeded as gloriously as anyone who's ever lived: I've loved another with all my heart and soul; and to me, this has always been enough.

Later that day I got to thinking about relationships. There are those that open you up to something new and exotic, those that are old and familiar, those that bring up lots of questions, those that bring you somewhere unexpected, those that bring you far from where you started, and those that bring you back. But the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous.

A woman needs to be held, even, and science has shown this, if its with someone she doesn't care about. Protective hormones are released, and the amount of hormones released depends on the degree to which she is held. The first and best is the complete surround. He wraps you in both arms, whispers how beautiful you are. Second best is the 'arm around.' He is next to you but with one arm around you. Third is he's just next to you on his elbow, but he rests his hand on your stomach and looks at you. Fourth is you snuggling up to him with your head on his chest, while he looks away into space. But when the first best happens, you feel completely, wonderfully like a woman.

So, so what, so fuck off, go home, leave you alone? I'll tell you something Paul, there isn't anything that I've wanted for eighteen years, cause I was a kid eighteen years ago. And if I did still want the same things I'd think I'd gone wrong somewhere, because actually I don't want to marry David Cassidy, I don't want bigger tits, I don't want to do better on my marks. I've stopped worrying about that kind of thing and maybe you should try.

Well maybe there's a big bit of you that's gone missing somewhere, maybe everyone should want something they've always wanted.

Why is it that adults aren't supposed to go mad about anything? You gotta keep a lid on it. And if you don't then people are apparently entitled to say what they like. "You haven't grown up. You're a moron. Your conversation is trivial and boorish. You can't express your emotional needs. You can't relate to your children." And you die, lonely and miserable. But you know, what the hell, every cloud has a silver lining.

I just woke up one morning and didn't feel the same way. Where did it go? It was like there had been a lot of food on a plate in front of us, and we ate it all really quickly, and then there was nothing left. Maybe that's how couples stay together: they're not greedy. They know that what they have in front of them has to last a long time, so they kind of pick at it. I hope it's not like that, though. I hope that when people are happy together, it feels as though someone keeps piling seconds and thirds on their plates.

That is what I have learned: Sex is destructive. Love is nothing to be fooled with. I learned that I was dangerous, not to be trusted. I wondered if my parents were right, with all of their stiff lovelessness. Maybe they knew better. My parents don't dole out love for the deserving or the undeserving. I was learning that love could cost me.

You could say all you liked about reason and logic and common sense and imagination, but when the chips were down, the one skill you needed was the ability to think about absolutely nothing whatsoever.

There is a comfort in never making an effort, but it's a lonely comfort. What keeps you going is the knowledge that you're only playing with only four cards showing. But when you see other people succeeding with their mediocre hands, you have to make a decision. If you turn over that final card you're certain of victory, but it also means you have nothing in reserve.

I’d gone through life believing in the strength and competence of others; never in my own. Now, dazzled, I discovered that my capacities were real. It was like finding a fortune in the lining of an old coat.

Maybe we all live life at too high a pitch, those of us who absorb emotional things all day, and as mere consequence we can never feel merely content: we have to be unhappy, or ecstatically, head-over-heels happy, and those states are difficult to achieve within a stable, solid relationship.